They Taught Him to Bite Down Hard
by vikuyuri
Summary: But when Dazai moves, his hand lifts slowly. His fingertips feather against Akutagawa's hair. "Mad dog," he murmurs. "You never trust anything you can't grasp in your own two hands." [power dynamics, pining, ot3 kisses]


Akutagawa finds Dazai at the appointed meeting place: a used book shop equidistant between their headquarters. The owner doesn't pay the mafia for protection, a fact Mori mentioned as he issued the assignment. Akutagawa understands this as tacit permission to escalate if the delivery goes awry.

Dazai's fingers trail along a row of spines. "When I die, I don't want anyone to write a biography. Poetry is fine. A novel might be even better."

"I have the map." Akutagawa pulls the envelope from his coat's teeth. "I don't know why Mori's trusting you with this."

Dazai hums and takes the envelope. Akutagawa grits his teeth, and Rashoumon stirs. He waits for Dazai to strike.

But when Dazai moves, his hand lifts slowly. His fingertips feather against Akutagawa's hair. "Mad dog," he murmurs. "You never trust anything you can't grasp in your own two hands."

Akutagawa stumbles backwards. " _You_ taught me that."

"It's the only thing you ever learned quicker than Atsushi-kun."

A moment later, Dazai is gone, and Rashoumon slices through the row of biographies.

* * *

Akutagawa finds the man-tiger on accident. The sidewalk is too narrow, and he sees his own wariness reflected in Atsushi's eyes.

Akutagawa wants to know what Dazai sees in this creature. That's all. That's the only reason he doesn't knock Atsushi into traffic when he asks, "Do you want to get lunch?"

Instead, Akutagawa leans in closer. He is disturbed that Atsushi doesn't flinch away; those sun-bright eyes didn't used to burn like that.

Then he sees bruises. Purple mottles Atsushi's smooth neck, disappearing beneath his shirt collar. "You're getting slow, man-tiger, if someone besides me was able to touch you."

Atsushi's eyes widen, and his cheeks flush a delicate pink. "That's none of your business."

" _You_ are my business," Akutagawa snaps, before he realizes what Atsushi means, and what the bruises are. He lets go, his face hot. "Disgusting."

Atsushi tugs his collar up and hunches his shoulders. He doesn't meet Akutagawa's eyes.

They don't get lunch.

* * *

Akutagawa stops short at the hard line between shadow and moonlight. He's on his way back from some bloody spring cleaning, and Rashoumon is sated, but in an instant, his stomach claws with want. A familiar figure sits on the riverbank.

Dazai's hair is dark and glossy in the silver light, wet, but the ends are starting to curl up again. He hasn't been out of the water long. He leans back on his hands in a pose of relaxation, and his foot rocks back and forth to a song Akutagawa can't hear.

Rashoumon tugs, tight movements urging him forwards. He clenches his fists, and takes one step.

Dazai jerks up and smiles. Akutagawa gapes, before he realizes the smile isn't for him.

A gleaming figure appears from another alley: Atsushi, scowling and laden with blankets. His silver hair is sleek with water, and his thin white shirt clings to his arms.

Akutagawa turns on his heel and strides away. He'll take a longer road home.

* * *

Akutagawa deflects seventeen bullets.

There were eighteen.

He barely thinks as he slices the final throat—the only blood he sees is that pouring from Atsushi's side. He doesn't know when Atsushi became something to protect, but he's already failed at it. There's a rule he learned years ago, and learned hard: don't break Dazai's toys.

He falls to his knees. "Fuck." Rashoumon wraps tightly around the man-tiger's strong flesh made abruptly fragile, sealing up the wound. And the next. Akutagawa touches his throat, but his fingers shake too much to feel a pulse.

Atsushi grabs him. His hand shifts slowly until it's slim fingers circling Akutagawa's forearm, instead of claws, and Atsushi wheezes, "I'm fine."

"You're a fucking idiot," Akutagawa snarls. "You dodged the wrong way."

Atsushi's next sound is somewhere between a cough and a laugh. Blood bubbles on his lips, but his voice is steadier when he says, "Wasn't the wrong way. I drew their fire."

There's a footstep at the end of the alley. Akutagawa whirls, and Rashoumon lances towards—

He halts the attack. Rashoumon's teeth shiver scant inches away from Dazai's splayed palm. "You're rusty," Dazai says. "That should have been easy, even for you."

"Dazai, don't be a dick," Atsushi mumbles.

Akutagawa flushes hot with shame, and rage. He's who he is because of the man standing before him—the man who now has his fingers all over the man-tiger instead. Whatever others write of him, Dazai has already left a biography of bruises upon the world.

Rashoumon withdraws, only to curl defensively around Akutagawa and the man-tiger. His fingers don't leave Atsushi's neck.

Dazai tilts his head, and his hair falls back from narrowed eyes. "You don't have to protect him from _me_."

"Don't I?" he says, and Dazai freezes.

Atsushi sits up, gritting his teeth. The blood has stopped. He starts to say something, but Akutagawa doesn't want to hear; he withdraws Rashoumon, then launches himself to the neighboring roof, and away.

* * *

The next meeting point is an empty warehouse. Mori assured him that Kunikida will accept the message this time, but Akutagawa isn't surprised to find Dazai instead. Nor is he surprised to find Atsushi on his tiptoes in the circle of Dazai's arms, eyes closed, and kissing him.

He's just surprised by how much it hurts.

They kiss like they don't know he's there. Akutagawa believes it of Atsushi, but not of Dazai. He drops the envelope. It hits the ground with the quietest _tap_ , and sure enough Atsushi gasps and whirls around. Dazai just tucks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heel.

Akutagawa restrains Rashoumon.

Atsushi says, "Wait," even though Akutagawa hasn't moved.

He bares his teeth and addresses Dazai instead. "Why are you doing this? I know I'll never be enough. You don't have to rub my face in it."

"You've always been a slow learner." Dazai looks at Atsushi, and only when Atsushi nods does he step forward. He stops in the center of the warehouse, directly in the window of moonlight. "Maybe you need a practical demonstration."

He beckons. Through instinct or training, Akutagawa obeys the silent command. He approaches warily. Rashoumon dances around his legs. His gaze flickers between Dazai and the man-tiger. Atsushi hangs on the edge of the moonlight, arms around himself. His eyes are wide with something Akutagawa's never seen before: something wavering between uncertainty and want.

Dazai is smiling, and as dangerous as ever. Akutagawa's heart seizes with how badly he craves his touch. He steps into the moonlight, scarce feet away from his teacher, and can't bring himself the rest of the way.

He doesn't have to. Smirking, Dazai closes in. His hands fit over Akutagawa's waist, thumbs resting against hipbones. Akutagawa can't breathe. Then Dazai kisses him, and he can't even think.

Rashoumon falls slack at Dazai's touch. The only movement in the world is Dazai's mouth on his, wet lips sliding over his. He places his hands on Dazai's chest. He means to push him away, but he's too overcome by the heartbeat beneath his palms. He's torn between kissing back and ripping out Dazai's heart so he feels the same as Akutagawa, and he ends up just standing there, frozen, soaring.

Dazai doesn't seem to mind his stillness. He tilts his head, pressing his tongue between Akutagawa's slack lips, and at last Akutagawa's eyes close.

The next hitch of breath is neither his nor Dazai's, and Akutagawa remembers they aren't alone. He tries to jerk away, but Dazai has him tight by the waist and shoulder, and twists him around. Akutagawa ends up pinned with his back pressed tight to Dazai's chest and Dazai's hands seized tight around his arms, and his entire being pierced through by Atsushi's moon-bright eyes.

He's dizzy. If Dazai lets go, he'll fall.

Dazai doesn't let go. He holds Akutagawa tight, and his breath is steady in his ear: "Atsushi-kun, do you want a turn?"

Atsushi whimpers, stumbling forward. His hands on Akutagawa's chest are feather-light, and even so, Akutagawa feels the tiger's fire burning deep into his lungs. Atsushi bites his lip. "Are you okay?"

Dazai's lips are cold on the back of his neck. He's always been defenseless under Dazai's touch.

"That's a stupid question," Akutagawa says, and it _is_. He doesn't know what _okay_ means. He also doesn't know what to do when Atsushi grins. He takes a deep breath, and is desperately glad he doesn't have time to say anything equally stupid before Atsushi's hands are warm on his neck, on his face, and he's being kissed again.

He shivers, uncertain, until Dazai lets go of his arms, and while Dazai presses and explores, Akutagawa is free to reach out too. The next time Atsushi whimpers, he _feels_ the sound under his fingertips. He shudders as Atsushi's voice hums through his veins all the way to his heart.

He still doesn't know what this is, but he'll hold onto it as long as he can.

* * *

title from Lump Street by Frightened Rabbit


End file.
